


Targets

by CityStreets



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, M/M, not even sorry at this point i love this ship and it needs more fics okay, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 12:02:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4391120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CityStreets/pseuds/CityStreets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winterhawk one-shots based off AU prompts on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Targets

**Author's Note:**

> “We’ve been stuck in this elevator for fifteen minutes now what are we going to do? Wait hold on, did either of us actually press the button?” AU

  
Clint Barton has had a pretty shit week, and it’s not even Thursday.  
  
Monday consisted of returning to the so-called Avengers tower at three in the morning - sleep deprived and freezing cold. It wasn’t exactly cold weather, but there was still a chill in his bones because while on the mission, he had managed to lose his jacket and a boot in the fight with some gang members on the rooftop of a twenty storey building.

Leaving him with a thin shirt and a shoeless foot, and having to walk back to the tower because all the others were out fighting some other kind of crime and he had, of course, managed to drop his phone over the side of the roof and had no other form of communication to them. His luck fucking _sucked._  

And then, you know, when he actually got into the tower and was able to get up to his room, Jarvis - the only other presence in the tower - joyfully alerted him that the Avengers now requested his presence with their battle.

“No,” he told the A.I. “Just, no.”

"Mr. Barton, Sir insists that you are needed. Something about dogs from hell, I believe. You are a fan of dogs, aren’t you, Mr. Barton.” Clint wasn’t too sure he’s heard right, but he’s pretty damn sure he just heard the sound of Jarvis being _amused._

At that moment, Clint cursed Tony Stark and his damn A.I and this damn Avengers business   because seriously - what the fuck, can’t a guy just have one damn Monday off to sleep through the entire day.   
  
“I’m also a fan of sleeping, J,” Clint muttered, “And taking apart Tony’s suits when he calls me in at three in the morning.”

At that moment, Tony decides to override the speakers. “Barton, get your ass here - Cap’s cornered, and Nat’s gone missing.”

Thor’s off on other worldly adventures, and Bruce had decided to sit out for most of the missions now - and honestly, Clint’s sure it’s just something to do with the fact no one wanted to wake him up at this ungodly time. Sam and Bucky had also teamed up for the week for some other mission - leaving only Steve, Tony, Nat and himself as Avengers that could respond to the more sudden threats.

He sighed before going to change, finding another pair of boots and a jacket. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

-

Tuesday, by all means, sucks even worse.

He wasn’t even sure that was possible, because on a scale of 1-10 of how much a day sucked, Monday ranked at about 15. Tuesday felt like a 25.

He’d been able to get a couple hours sleep, but he’d woken up sweating heavily and his heart racing. Tinges of blue receded from his vision, and he groaned because after a nightmare like that, he knew he wasn’t getting any sleep.

Taking a hot shower had helped - except for when he stepped out, he managed to knock his razor of its perch and in a vain attempt to catch it, ended up slicing the side of his thumb.

He hadn’t even registered it for a few moments, just watched as the red began to run down his arm - and then cursed loudly when he had finally figured out what had just happened, and had to run his thumb under the tap while trying to remember just where he put his first aid materials.

The sun wasn’t even up yet, and Clint Barton was already having another shit day.

He finally made his way into the kitchen in the common area, bandaged thumb and towel around his waist - not expecting anyone else awake at the stupid time, and if they were they’d been hiding in either the workshop or their own room.

He has his own coffee machine on his designated floor, but the dream still lingered in his mind and he prefered to get out of his own space for a few hours, just to clear his head a bit before going down to shoot targets at the range. Also, he’s used up all of his stashed coffee supply.

The kitchen, though, was also out of coffee. He searched around, scowl on his face at the thought that there was possibly no coffee - because there was just no way he was going to survive the day without it.

He considered making a run to a 24/7 diner, or asking Jarvis to force someone to deliver it to him. Surely someone would respond to ‘Avenger needs coffee’ in fear of their life. 

“You looking for something?” A voice said, and Clint doesn’t even think about his next move - just turns and puts himself in a fighting stance, facing the threat, mind suddenly racing at the possibility of danger.   
  
He wasn’t thinking clearly - he knew that, with a sleep and coffee deprived body, and he didn’t expect anyone to actually be in the area after all. It took a moment for the voice to sink in, for him to be able to recognise it, and another few moments to be able to relax his muscles, to stand in a casual position.

“Thought you were with Sam,” Clint said, eyeing Bucky as he stood up from his casual position from leaning on the wall. 

“Yeah, I was,” Bucky replied, moving to the fridge. “Just got back. Sam’s gone to write the report or somethin’ that I should probably be doing.”  
  
Clint just hummed a reply, leaning against the kitchen counter. He groaned, rubbing a hand over his eyes - fatigue settling back in once the danger had been cleared.  
  
“How’d it go?” Clint asked - and he knew of course, because Bucky was actually interacting rather normally, which meant it went well. Meant that Bucky was getting better control in fights, wasn’t slipping into his Winter Soldier memories like he was so prone to do before.

“Eh, some punk with a bark worse than bite. Too easy,” Bucky replied, his metal fingers tapping on the fridge as he looked into it.   
  
“See any coffee?” Clint asked, and just shrugged as Bucky turned to give him a strange look over his shoulder.

“No, Barton, there’s no coffee in the fridge. Don’t you have a whole stash of the stuff?” Bucky leaned in to the fridge as he said it, pulling out a plastic container of some fried rice. 

“All out,” he sadly reported. “Think Stark just took the last remains here, too.”  
  
“We may as well just add a coffee shop to this tower,” Bucky muttered, and Clint felt inclined to agree. Between all of them, the place definitely wouldn’t go out of business at least.

Bucky searched through the drawers for a fork, and when he found one sat up on the counter beside Clint, quietly eating his rice.

“Do you think it’s worth disturbing Tony for it?” Clint asked - because they all knew the dangers of disturbing Tony in his workshop at weird times in the morning. Such as being blasted by repulsors, swung at by a robot, or having to be dragged into a conversation about whatever Tony was constructing.

“Nope,” Bucky replied. “Be like disturbing you when you’re down shootin’ arrows. Stupid and life endangering.”

Clint was about to argue the point - then realised over half the time he was doing practicing, he was usually in no state of mind to be dealing with anyone disturbing him. Usually, during such sessions, he was just as sleep deprived as he was now.  
  
“I just need coffee,” Clint mumbled, quite pathetically - and would be embarrassed about his near desperate voice crack, but at this point can’t bring himself to care.

“I think you need sleep,” Bucky pointed out, and Clint just rolled his eyes.   
  
“Don’t we all,” was all Clint could think of in response. It was too damn early to be talking without any coffee.  
  
“I also think you need some clothes,” Bucky informed him, and that’s when Clint hits the point of embarrassment because he’s absolutely forgotten he’s half naked with just a towel around his waist - and yeah, that’s definitely enough to make himself want to crawl into a ball in the vents and never come out. He just needed some damn coffee but no - the universe hates Clint Barton today.  
  
Clint can’t even think of anything to say. Just gave Bucky a half-hearted salute, turned and went right back into his room. Yep, total and utter humiliation by standing in front of the Winter Soldier half naked because he forgot was a good way to get the day to a 25 before sunrise.   
  
He managed to fall asleep, though, somehow, a few hours later. And for those few hours, it’s actually peaceful.

-

Wednesday starts off absolutely _terribly._

At around midnight, he’d been called to deal with some more hellhounds that have seemed to appear, causing a nuisance in the streets. Thankfully, they hadn’t been doing too much damage - just using trees as chew-toys so far, and tipping rubbish everywhere. 

He suited up on the promise from Tony to have more coffee by the time he got back. Tony’s suits were still down from the hellhounds last attack, emitting some modified EMP with their bark that managed to transmit to all his suits.  
  
They hadn’t actually found a way to restrain the hellhounds yet. They were like walking skeletons - able to take any amount of arrows or blasts, but could then shift into a fiery smoke to escape nets.   
  
“So, who’s up?” He asked as he put in his earpiece - and his night was certainly not helped with the response.

“No,” was all Natasha had to say, and Clint just accepted it - knew she’d been working hard on her own ends and was definitely not up for trying to convince her. Steve was also decidedly not up, after helping Sam on something and then coming back with a broken arm that wasn’t healing. 

“Yay for teamwork,” Clint muttered. “Can’t even get a ride, Tony?”  
  
“No, Bar-” Tony was cut off by Natasha, who allowed him her own bike.  
  
“Whatever you do to her, I will do to you,” Natasha promised, and Clint agreed to the terms - even though knowing his luck over the past couple days, someone else was going to scratch it or blow it up and then Clint would be no more in this dimension.  
  
Clint, to his own surprise, got there without a scratch on Natasha’s bike. He parked it safely, out of the way of hopefully any damages, and headed into the streets to face the hellhounds.

A rooftop later - trying to figure out his parameter - help arrived in the form of Bucky Barnes, who once again appeared out of nowhere and startled Clint with his greeting.

He cursed the Gods above - then realised the Gods above probably counted as Thor, and decided to just curse the ground instead - that he was able to be startled. Only one other person could sometimes startle him, which was Natasha.

“Need some help?” Bucky asked, and Clint just half-heartedly glared at him before nodding.

It took four hours to restrain all the dogs. While it took only an hour to figure out how to restrain the mutts, it took another three to round them all up and start cleaning up some of the mess they had made.

It’s sunrise by the time they rode back to the tower - Bucky having brought his own bike. Clint’s ready to crash on any sort of mildly comfortable surface at this point, and Bucky isn’t looking much better.

They’ve been flat out recently - there’s not a day goes by where another of them is called into a mission. Clint’s lost track of who’s doing what, who’s going where, just asks Jarvis who’s available for the day if any more threats decide to pop up. More than once, it’s been just one person making up the Avengers team to deal with something on the streets.

He hadn’t been getting sleep, and definitely hadn’t had enough coffee to last through some of the days. And the week was turning out to be possibly the worst-luck-week of all time. _Ever._

Bucky and Clint move to the elevator, and Clint slumped down on the wall, sliding off his quiver, and letting his knees collapse and his head rest against the wall. He was drifting off immediately, ready to sleep, but was too soon woken by someone shaking his shoulder.

“Barton, _Barton_ ,” Bucky whispered, a little desperately, and Clint hummed in response, not bothering to open his eyes.

“What is it?” He mumbled, almost certain it was unintelligible - but sure Bucky would get the gist.

“The doors closed,” Bucky told him, and Clint did open one eye to peer at him strangely.

“Barnes, you’re not new to the idea of elevators. The doors close,” he told him, casually enough, but kept a closer eye on him.

“It’s not moving, though,” Bucky huffed, frustrated. Clint sighed, opening both eyes to peer around.

“I just need some coffee,” Clint mumbled to himself, throwing his head back and hitting the wall in irritation. 

He closed his eyes again - too tired to bother dealing with whatever the problem was. He was going to kill Stark later for the elevators not working, but only after he had slept and had coffee.

Bucky slid down on the opposite side of him, and Clint once again opened an eye to watch him. He frowned when he noticed just how tired the other looked, and the amount of scratches he could now see under the bright elevator light.

“You look like shit,” is all Clint could think of to say, and Bucky just snorted in amusement.

“You’re kidding, right? You looked in the mirror?” Bucky jibed, and Clint just closed his eyes again. 

“Good point,” Clint replied, and let his head roll to the side as he yawned, resting it on the other wall.

“You alright, Barton?” Bucky asked, and Clint’s eyes once again open - this time in confusion. 

“What makes you ask?” He furrowed his eyebrows as Bucky tilted his head.

“Normally you’re - well, easier to get a banter out of,” Bucky replied. Clint just gave a weak smile in return.

“Normally it’s easier to do so when I have some actual damn coffee,” Clint complained. “Or some sleep.”

“At least you have clothes on, I suppose,” Bucky jested, and Clint just snorted in amusement, trying to keep any redness on his cheeks from appearing.

“Probably a plus,” he stated, adjusting his position slightly when his head began to fall too far down the wall.

“I could dispute that,” Bucky admitted, and Clint looked at him strangely, trying to figure out if he was being serious. There was no way he was being serious, Clint reasoned with himself. He was hearing things.

“Yeah, must be quite the sight,” Clint huffed, deciding not to bother figuring out the strange look Bucky was now giving him - like he was figuring Clint out. 

They sat in silence, Clint so, so close to drifting off to sleep. He didn’t even care that he was about to fall asleep in a stuck elevator with Bucky Barnes across from him - the fact was, he actually felt felt relaxed enough, his mind quiet enough, to be able to drift off.

Which was, of course, when Jarvis decided to speak up.

Clint groaned loudly through Jarvis’ speech, deciding to ignore the A.I before he realised - Jarvis controlled the tower. And they were currently stuck in an elevator - meaning Jarvis could help them.

He shut his mouth, hearing Jarvis say the words of “press a button.”

His jaw goes slack when he realised just what has actually happened, why they were ‘stuck’. He groaned even louder than before, ignoring the look Barnes was giving him.

"Fuck - Barnes,” Clint groaned, “you forgot to press the damn button?”

Bucky’s look changed from annoyed to sheepish in a moment. “I thought you had pressed it before you slumped down there like an old man.”

“Not all of us are super soldiers, man,” Clint retorted. “Just. Just press a damn button, would you? Stark owes me coffee. A lot of coffee.”

Bucky did so, and Clint sighed with relief as the elevator started the journey up.

"Wait. _Wait_ , you didn't even try the door open button?" Clint asked, the thought suddenly hitting him. "You didn't even - _oh my God._ "

"Neither did you," Bucky grumbled, folding his arms over his chest.

"I guess not. Here's to the cleverness of under-caffeinated, sleep deprived and previously brain-washed assassins," Clint proclaimed, glancing quickly at Bucky to make sure his joke wasn't taken in the wrong way. Bucky just smiled, and Clint felt a wave of relief wash over him.

"Hear, hear," Bucky cheered, and gave a lazy gesture of raising an imaginary glass.

Clint grinned, then realised he his gaze was still lingering on Bucky, and he quickly ducked his head down - ignoring the warmth that began to creep into his cheeks. Absolutely not happening, he told himself. Just, _no._

“Your floor is coming up,” Bucky informed him, and Clint looked up at the steadily rising floor numbers. He slowly stood up, shutting his eyes against the sudden dizzy spell.

“I need - coffee, right now,” Clint murmured, and Bucky stood up behind him.

The doors opened, and just as Clint was about to step about, Bucky grabbed his arm. Clint turned, standing in the doorway of the elevator.

“Hey - hey, uh. Look, you should definitely sleep first, but when you wake up we could go out for coffee,” Bucky stammered out, “I mean, if you want to, of course.”

Clint smiled. “Yeah, yeah that sounds good. Coffee sounds good.” He paused a moment, then added, “you sound good too.”

“That was terrible,” Bucky told him, and Clint just shrugged.

“Yeah, well, have pity on the sleepless assassin. I’ll come and get you when I’m awake,” Clint remarked, stepping out of the elevator, and giving Bucky a quick smile before the elevator closed.

“Remember to press your floor button!” He yelled, laughing when Bucky just flipped him the middle finger.

The Wednesday had started terribly - but, he reasoned, a recent turn of events had possibly just turned it into a great week. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> First fic for the fandom, and it was of course this ship :') I love the idea of brain-washed assassin boyfriends okay.  
> More are to come! Thanks for reading, and all kudos/comments are very appreciated <3


End file.
